The Real Baxter (The Baxter Chronicles 1)

“You knew that going into the project, Ollie,” I replied gently, glancing out the window at the rainy gray London skyline as I nibbled on bacon and touched base with my youngest, who was in the midst of a school project meltdown.

This wasn’t an uncommon event in our house. Like his older brother, Oliver was a perfectionist. Charlie generally focused on order, beauty, and cleanliness, while Oliver was all about mechanics. He appreciated diligent details about how things worked. He might be a scientist or even a cinematographer in the making. Then again, he could decide to go to med school. He didn’t need to know his path yet, but I’d bet good money that he’d make sure he was the one calling the shots.

“Yeah, I know. But I’m doing all the work myself and it’s not fair and…”

I set the bacon on the china plate, turning to smile at Trent, who looked fuckable as hell in his basic denim and black tee combo. His hair was damp from the shower and his jaw had that freshly shaven sheen I knew now wouldn’t last till noon. I pointed at the phone at my ear and held up a finger.

“Hey, Ol. No panicking. Can you ask for a new partner?”

“No, it’s too late. This is due in three weeks,” he groused.

God love that kid. “Three weeks is plenty of time. I’ll help you when I get home.”

“I can’t get professional help, Dad.”

“I appreciate your faith in me, kiddo. I am a professional, but not when it comes to making clay Oreos.”

“Me either. Ky was trying to help me, but Zero is recording now and no one has time. When are you coming home?”

“Two days.” I didn’t add that I had more meetings scheduled than I had hours in the day. Somehow I’d make it work. His silence indicated he wasn’t as confident. “Hey, why don’t we FaceTime and you can show me what you’ve done so far?”

“Okay.”

I disconnected the call and glanced over at Trent. “Hang tight. Ollie’s having a clay crisis.”

“I can help,” he replied matter-of-factly.

“How?”

Trent squeezed my ass. “As you know, I’m pretty good with my hands. I can help him build small sets or take photos or whatever. If he needs it.”

I regarded him for a moment and nodded my thanks before calling Oliver again on my iPad.

“Hey, buddy. What do we have here?” I wisely moved into the adjoining living room so my sex-wrecked bed wouldn’t accidentally get any screen time. Trent caught my gaze and waggled his brows lasciviously.

He perched on the arm of the brocade sofa, scrolling through his messages while Ollie and I talked. I was grateful for that. I didn’t know why. It was second nature for me to lie about stupid things. I’d told him from the start that Trent was a bodyguard, and it was perfectly normal for a bodyguard to be in the living quarters of a hotel suite. Oliver would totally accept it.

But that wasn’t true, and lying to my son felt…wrong.

I pushed that niggling thought aside and offered Trent’s assistance.

“The bodyguard?” Oliver asked, knitting his brow as he leaned against the headboard in his bed at his mom’s house. “I thought he worked for Charlie.”

“You know Charlie worries.”

“Ri-ght.” He drew the word out in an obvious “I don’t believe you, Dad, but I’ll go along with it…like I always do” note.

“Trent happens to be here now if you’re interested in discussing your project. But you have to keep it short. It’s late at home. You should be asleep, and I need to get some work done before I meet Pierce for the video-game conference,” I advised, glancing at my watch.

“Yeah, okay. Thanks. I love you, Dad.”

“I love you too, Ol.”

Trent took the iPad from me and sank into the sofa. “Yo, Oliver. Show me what you got.”

I listened with half an ear as my lover and my son discussed the engineering aspects of making a clay Oreo seem real. They spoke like friends though I knew they’d only met twice briefly. It was a bit jarring to invite someone new into my inner circle. I hadn’t done this in a while. After the Giorgio fiasco, I’d made a personal vow to keep my love life completely separate from my family.

But it felt safe to include Trent. And good.

Maybe that was because this was a transitory arrangement. A mature exchange of sex and friendship with a time limit. There was no chance of anyone getting hurt or misunderstanding intentions if we were honest and up front with each other.

I could do that. I think.

Trent held the umbrella above us as we made our way to the chauffeured SUV. “So am I playing bodyguard here, or should I stay at the hotel?”

“You should come. I want to do some scouting afterward and…yes, it’s probably best to stick to the bodyguard story since it’s out. But I need to tell you about Pierce.”